


the Lie that you Adore

by GwiYeoWeo



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, V is... sorta Vergil, and he's a little grim, v wants to atone but realizes he's not so great at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28840275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: There wasn’t much to go on, but it was enough. Red, a woman, a room and a moonless night. Put two and two together, and it’s obvious where Nero gets his origins from.V can’t say whether or not Vergil would have still done what he had if he had known, and his guilty conscience still doesn’t want him to find out either. Instead, it filled him with a sense of responsibility, to make amends for yet another crime.V tries to make up for Vergil's mistakes, including the one toward Nero when he remembers the truth. Yet when certain emotions start budding, he realizes he's not even a good enough human to truly lament over his sins.
Relationships: Nero/V (Devil May Cry)
Kudos: 38
Collections: Spardacest Server Fics and Art





	the Lie that you Adore

It’s yet another unforeseen dilemma, though it’s one that he can’t say surprises him; his entire life, it seems, is just one disastrous miscalculation after another.

They were of good intentions, another attempt to right Vergil’s wrongs — not to pay penance to the world but to a single son in order to make amends for his lack of… a fatherly influence. Not that V has much experience in that regard, unfortunately. What he remembers are the scattered fragments of his early childhood, blurred images of Sparda and Eva, a bit of sword fighting here and there. Nothing to draw a good foundation of parenting from.

So it’s somewhat a relief, maybe, that Nero didn’t have a normal upbringing. Being orphaned, raised in some cult, growing up with a demon arm and ostracized for it. V supposes with a life like that, there were more important things on the agenda than to track down a long-lost father. 

Dante may have helped fill that void in. V even suspected him to be the father, albeit a poor one, until the memories filtered in. (But a better father than Vergil, nonetheless.)

V had asked once, under the guise of a whimsical curiosity, and Nero’s guffaw had nearly made him jump out of his own paper-thin skin.

“What the —” Nero had choked on his own incredulous laughter, wiping the tears off his face with the heel of his palm. “Fuck no! That old man ain’t even dad material. I’m sure if I was a baby, he’d leave me with a pair of guns and Red Queen to chop off my own little fingers with. You’d bet your pretty boy ass that’d get CPS called in quicker than you can say Devil May Cry.”

V had allowed Nero his last laughs, pointedly ignoring Nero’s comment on his bottom, as he figured there’d be nothing else worth mentioning. Of course, he was wrong when Nero said Dante had mentioned a brother — once, and only once, and Nero’s smart enough to not go poking at private family matters — that resulted in an impromptu barrage of disjointed memories, and V discreetly made his exit out of that conversation.

There wasn’t much to go on, but it was enough. Red, a woman, a room and a moonless night. Put two and two together, and it’s obvious where Nero gets his origins from.

V can’t say whether or not Vergil would have still done what he had if he had known, and his guilty conscience still doesn’t want him to find out either. Instead, it filled him with a sense of responsibility, to make amends for yet another crime. 

It started innocently enough. Small things. Humoring Nero whenever he cracked a joke, regardless of whether or not V understood it. Listening to his tangents on Kyrie or his makeshift family of orphans whenever they had downtime between the fighting.

Then it escalated. From casual pats on the shoulder to bear hugs of victory after a hard-won battle, to lingering touches and eyes that looked upon him just a degree too heated. V tried to use logic as the excuse. Like called to like, blood to blood; there was the possibility of instincts and primal natures that knew of V’s truth. Nero was a young man, an adult, but that wouldn’t save him from a human’s yearning for family and love. 

V could do that; he longed for it himself, and therefore knew how to satisfy the hunger. A simple way to atone. He’s running on borrowed time anyway — best to make good use of it while he could. 

That culminated to now. By society’s rules, this is far from a fatherly gesture, but he’s not Nero’s father in the true sense. He’ll take the blame regardless. He carries far worse, though the small tinge in his chest casts a shadow of doubt that he can’t bother to analyze at the moment.

It would be difficult even if he wanted to, especially with this scorching heat that skates across his skin. Like it’s fire burning away his sins. His heart flutters in his ribcage, thrashing against meat and bones, and he feels it in his hands when he leans down and brings Nero’s face to his own, sharing life and breath between them. He bears against Nero harder, and swallows the low moans he elicits from his not-quite son, in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe he and Vergil would possibly be absolved of at least this one crime by bringing himself closer to the flames. 

Though he knows how they got here and the motions that took them to a bed of one of the few passable but still dingy motel rooms, he can’t quite wrap his head around the  _ why. _ Why now? Why like this? Perhaps it was the adrenaline and the bloody carcasses of their battle against a demon horde, tipping the scale of Nero’s patience and human will. Too much fighting, stress, a need for an outlet. Still, V thought Nero was far too pure underneath that brash exterior for something like infidelity, and surely there was a tie between him and Kyrie, if Nico’s loud and oversharing comments held any truth. 

“Spacing out, pretty boy?” Nero whispers against V’s lips, sliding a hand down and along that slim, wretchedly weak back to grab a handful of ass. 

If he was, V doesn’t confirm it, just ruts against Nero all the more in encouragement. All of those thoughts and reasoning, he can deal with later. Now that Nero’s laid out his cards and showed V what he wants, V can’t let him run and hide behind second thoughts. Nero’s a living contradiction: audacious but tender, confident but easily embarrassed. He loves to drop his favorite word around like a bomb, slewing insults and profanities any which way, but actually getting to it turns him into a blushing maiden. 

V won’t let this chance slip away because he’s feeling philosophical. 

But he can’t help but wonder. As he slides himself onto Nero and feels the burn in his thighs and the air leave his lips, is he truly paying penance when he wants this just as much? Yet when Nero looks upon him with such adoration in his eyes as he chants a soft string of curses, tensing and straining as he reaches his high, V finds that he doesn’t care at all. 


End file.
